


Epitome

by CursiveHelix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Minor Character Death, Morally Grey Hermione Granger, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Slow Burn, Slytherin Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27276439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CursiveHelix/pseuds/CursiveHelix
Summary: How does a Muggle-born witch survive in the snakes' den?By being the most Slytherin of them all.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	Epitome

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Please note that tags are subject to change. I will additionally provide warnings on chapters as they arise.
> 
> A heartfelt thank you to my alpha/beta reader, Crochetaway, who has so generously gifted me with her time, dedication, and encouragement.

There was something peculiar about that cat, Hermione decided. 

Funny things had a way of happening around her. They had ever since she was a little girl. Now at almost twelve-years-old, which was almost a grown-up, she was _almost_ accustomed to these strange happenings. 

Hermione Granger was special. There was no truth more firmly fixed in her mind than this fact, the North Star of her psyche. She saw things that no one else could see and knew things that were impossible to guess. If she concentrated hard enough, she could move or change objects just by wishing them to be somewhere or something other than they were. When she wanted something badly enough, she could _bring it into being_ by sheer force of will. 

Sometimes, at least.

When she was young, she could erase and re-colour her colouring books as many times as it took to get the images perfect. Flowers might spring up from her teardrops. These inexplicable events seemed to occur less and less frequently like the power was lost and locked away inside her heart. It was, Hermione feared, a consequence of growing up. Perhaps everyone had once been as special as she was but had forgotten how. No wonder adults were so grouchy.

And yet, there was something uncanny about the silver Scottish Fold tabby gazing at her from the garden wall, she was sure of it. Something unnatural about the stripes around its eyes. The angles were so precise, like miniature eyeglasses...

She belatedly recalled that cats didn't like to be stared at and averted her gaze, but this cat did not seem to be bothered. Hermione swayed on the swingset, scuffing the toe of her trainer through the dirt and pretending not to pay attention to the cat whilst observing it from the corner of her eye. Should she go up to it?

A specific memory curtailed the impulse: Two-and-half years ago, she'd had a bewildering experience during her family's Christmas visit to her Granny's cabin in Scotland. She had gotten separated from her older cousins (or, more accurately, left behind). As she was sitting by the loch, shivering and trying not to cry, Hermione spotted a beautiful mare wading through the frozen rushes along the shore, jet-black and glossy in the early light of dawn. It was the most regal, magnificent creature she had ever encountered. Hermione had long envied some of the girls at her school for their horses; she begged her parents for riding lessons to no avail. Her father promised he'd let her take lessons if her school marks were good enough and then never followed through, setting the bar higher and higher each time she asked.

The snotty girls' horses looked like broken-down nags beside this horse. It was special like her. 

Hermione had crept down the embankment, her boots skidding across the ice and mud, hardly daring to breathe for fear of scaring it away. The mare stayed, though. Whenever she paused to steady herself, debating whether to turn back, it whinnied a musical trill like reed pipes as though to urge her onward. Hermione got the sense that the mare wanted her to come closer, that it was _waiting_ for her. Waiting for _her_ and no one else. If only she climbed upon its back, they would dash away together on the grand adventure that she had always believed she was destined for but which remained perpetually out of reach. 

Her fingers were inches away from stroking its flowing, kelp-strewn mane ( _You poor darling!_ she'd thought. _I'll clean you up!_ ) when two men in antique-looking clothing appeared out of nowhere. The black mare shied back into the loch, rearing up and baring its teeth, which Hermione could have sworn resembled fangs if that weren't so ridiculous. The men yanked her away from the water, shouting nonsense as they brandished sticks and what must have been coloured torchlights to chase the horse off.

__

Hermione had never been so angry in her life. She wished as hard as she could that the men would stop, and one man's hand suddenly ballooned to thrice its size, his fingers floating apart until he dropped the stick onto the ground. But it was too late. The beautiful horse fled into the depths and swam away. Doomed to freeze to death, Hermione later realized to her utmost misery.

__

"Shall we call for an Obliviator, McLaggen?" one of the men had asked. 

__

"Not this time," the second man, McLaggen, said as he prodded speculatively at his purplish, swollen hand. 

__

"Right, then. Figure out who she belongs to, and I'll find us a boat."

__

The man named McLaggen refused to answer any of Hermione's questions. "You're nine, you say? You'll find out soon enough," he told her cryptically. 

__

McLaggen, however, asked her lots of questions, first about what she'd done to his hand and then whether anything like it had happened before. Her parents had sworn her to secrecy, but it was clear that the man already knew something which she did not — a cavernous hole in her understanding of how the world worked which she had yearned to fill for as long as she could remember. 

__

Most importantly, he affirmed each and every word she spoke without the barest tinge of scepticism. Thankful to have a receptive audience for once, Hermione happily prattled about her special abilities: The numbers she saw in dreams, the levitating books when she was grounded and prohibited from reading, the time she'd healed a butterfly's broken wing, the self-erasing colouring books from when she was younger, and much more besides.

__

She did not tell him about the teardrops and flowers.

__

With his engorged hand hidden in his pocket, McLaggen led her back to her father. He was rather irate at her for 'wandering off' no matter how Hermione argued that she hadn't. McLaggen departed with a final piece of advice: "Try not to follow after strange animals next time, lass. You got lucky."

__

His gruff tone halfway convinced her, yet Hermione still _felt_ the very opposite of lucky. She did apologize for hurting his hand, though. 

__

She watched McLaggen and his partner's distant silhouettes across the loch for the rest of the morning. Regardless of McLaggen's warning, she privately hoped that the black mare would come back for her. By dusk, a boy a few years younger than herself had vanished from a tourist group, cutting her own holiday trip short. Some other kid might have stolen her special horse, and the sole consolation would be that the horse had survived, even if it went on an adventure without her.

__

Perhaps today her luck had changed. She wouldn't miss her chance again.

__

As she was screwing up her courage to approach the mysterious tabby, her father walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder. He held out a book, which she had dropped onto the lawn and forgotten in her excitement over the cat. 

__

"You're getting a bit old for _The Hobbit_ , aren't you, kiddo?" he said.

__

"No," Hermione answered begrudgingly. She mostly read non-fiction and textbooks — she was going to be a famous scientist or maybe a historian when she grew up and appreciated the value of getting a headstart — but _The Hobbit_ was one of her favorite stories. She especially liked the passage where Bilbo Baggins tricked Gollum out of the magic ring. She was good at riddles, too. 

__

"Go inside. Your mum and I have something to discuss with you."

__

"But, Dad," said Hermione, pointing towards the garden wall, "can't I pet the cat first?"

__

At that moment, her mother came around the bay window of their multi-story, Victorian home. Baxter, their white teacup poodle, was racing around her ankles and barking his fluffy, little head off. She drove him away with an impatient kick, plainly in a foul temper. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her frosted, layered hair had fallen flat from tugging at in frustration. Her parents had been having yet another row in the garage as though she were too naïve to notice. It's why Hermione had slunk off to the back garden in the first place.

__

"Hermione Jean, don't you dare touch that mangy, old thing!" her mother shrieked, shooing her hands at the cat from afar. She was not fond of cats.

__

Hermione disagreed. It was not the least bit mangy; if anything, it was an exceedingly dignified cat. The silver tabby twitched one of its curled ears and swished its tail before gracefully leaping out of sight under the tall hedges.

__

She imagined that the cat had understood what her mother said and taken offence. But of course that was silly. It was probably frightened by a noisy human screeching at it. 

__

Just a normal cat, Hermione told herself as her heart sank. 

__

She trudged into the house behind her parents, so distracted and forlorn that she neglected to take her shoes off in the foyer until her mother complained of tracking dirt onto her white carpets. Hermione dutifully kicked off her trainers, wiped the dust from Baxter's tiny paws, and headed into the living room. 

__

It had been a rough day at school. The cat had temporarily cheered her up and she'd been carrying herself through the final weeks of classes with the dream of more free time to do her own reading over the summer. Now the sour mood rebounded stronger than before. Although Hermione wanted nothing more than to shut herself in her bedroom with her books, she knew what was coming and sat, docile and rigid, on the suede sofa across from her mum and dad. 

__

"Mrs Winslow is lying," Hermione declared before her parents could open their mouths. "I did _not _steal the exam key. It's her fault the questions are so predictable and _boring._ "__

__

"Predictable down to the letter?" her mother asked, a hint of sarcastic amusement ringing in her voice.

__

"Yes!" Hermione beamed with relief and gratitude. "I knew you'd take my side, Mum."

__

Her father pushed his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Helen, would you kindly inform me of what our daughter has done now?"

__

Her mother exhaled a loud, drawn out sigh. "It's fine, David," she said as she shot a wink at Hermione. "Mummy took care of it, didn't she?"

__

Hermione hated when her mum used that cutesy, baby-talk voice, but she repressed her irritation long enough to chirp, "Thanks, Mum!" and hopped up from the sofa. 

__

"Sit down, Hermione," her father said. "What exactly did 'Mummy' take care of?"

__

Hermione waited in an uncomfortable silence for her mother to respond, but her mum simply rolled her eyes. 

__

"Weeeeell," Hermione began, "Katherine and Natalie P. were really confused about the vocabulary terms and diagrams. They wanted me to help them remember—"

__

Both of her parents started talking simultaneously. Her mum, jabbing her sharp, acrylic fingernail in the air, won out with, "Aren't those the brats who stuck gum in your hair? I missed my cycling class to get it out and had peanut butter caked around my cuticles for a week! Why in God's name would you help them? If I'd known—"

__

"Yes, but, Mum, Mrs Winslow is a terrible teacher!" It took a lot for Hermione to speak so disrespectfully of an adult, but it was the honest truth. "Katherine and Natalie still deserve to learn, don't they? She should be thanking _me_ for doing _her_ job."

__

Her mother scoffed, and her father cut in with, "You couldn't teach them without the exam sheet?"

__

"I tried! They didn't get it, so I thought—"

__

"You thought you'd cheat, did you?"

__

"I didn't cheat! I knew the questions and answers already!" Hermione insisted. It wasn't fair. Her father _knew_ how she discovered the exam questions. She didn't choose to; it happened by itself. She would have known the answers anyway since Mrs. Winslow's tests were too easy. 

__

"However you got the sheet, you didn't have to keep it. It _looks_ like cheating, and that's what counts. Plus, you did help those girls cheat, whether you meant to or not. How many times have I told you to save your 'talents' for home?" Her father swept a hand through the sparse, grey curls drooping over his forehead. His eyes bulged from the fleshy creases around the sockets. "Do you want to get your mum and me into big trouble? Do you want to send us to jail?"

__

Her chest tightened. She did _not_ take the sheet, but she whimpered, "No, Dad."

__

Hermione looked towards her mother, who was nodding with a grim expression that brought out all the fine wrinkles around her mouth. "Your father is right. Don't waste your gifts on those cows."

__

"I won't, I promise," Hermione swore in complete earnestness, but she was confused about what exactly she had done wrong. She would figure it out. She would do better next time. 

__

"There's a good girl," her father said, smiling for a moment. As soon as Hermione perked up, he rounded on his wife. "How did you handle the teacher?"

__

Her mother pouted, trailing her hand down to pat Baxter, who was sleeping by her feet. "That bitch had nothing to go on. The exam sheet was in her car boot the entire time. Admitted it herself. But she wouldn't let the subject go. Too many _incidents_." Then she flashed her immaculately straight and white teeth, pleased as punch with her management of the situation. "So, coincidentally, I had been about to call the headmistress about making a small donation to the Young Entrepreneurs' Alumni Fund just as Mrs Winslow rang."

__

Her father was less than satisfied with this arrangement. "Don't we pay enough to that damned school? The bloody uniforms alone cost an arm and a leg!"

__

"I did say _small_ , David," she snapped. "Heaven help us, it'll be the last one. Do you want our daughter to get expelled for misconduct?"

__

"Expelled?" Hermione yelped. She had tuned out from the conversation until then. School was a tedious waste of time. She regretted declining to move up a year where she could tackle more challenging material. The offer had been too daunting; at least she knew who the bullies in her own year were. Hermione frequently wished that she could study by herself instead, but her parents concurred that her foremost goal at Clifton Girls' Academy was to make friends — the right sort of friends, those with connections to the Royal Family, government, and other high-ranking positions. It was a task at which Hermione had failed abysmally. While she wasn't a total outcast, she was relegated to the periphery of the school's social ecosystem with no close friends of her own — too stubborn and swotty to fit in with her narrow-minded, adolescent classmates. Hermione loathed them, and yet the prospect of expulsion and what her classmates might think humiliated her to the bone. 

__

Her cheeks grew hot and prickly at the mere notion. Without seeking permission, she slid off the sofa cushion onto the floor and called to Baxter. The little dog trotted to her and rolled over for belly rubs. Hermione focused her downcast eyes on his soft fur and pink tummy, praying that she would not cry. She was too old to cry. She refused to.

__

"Look what you've done," she heard her father chide her mum. Then he said to her, "You won't be expelled, kiddo. No one actually caught you with the exam sheet, now did they? It could've been a lucky guess."

__

"Right, listen to your father," her mum said. "Who really cares about a sixth year's English quiz anyway?"

__

Hermione did not bother to correct her mum that it had been a sciences exam. 

__

When Hermione didn't respond, her mother drummed her long nails against the arm of the chair until she looked up. "Forget about that wretched, old harpy. Your father and I wanted to let you know that you've been accepted to a new school, dear!"

__

"I was?!" Hermione squeaked in rapid-fire delight, "How? Where is it? When do I get to leave Clifton? Can I start on Monday? Is it a science academy?"

__

Her parents laughed at her enthusiasm. "Slow down," her father said, gesturing for her to lower her voice. 

__

"Go wash up. One of the professors will be visiting shortly to tell you all about it," her mum said, then gestured at her dad's navy polo tee to add, "And you, tuck in your shirt."

__

Hermione jumped to her feet and jogged up the staircase before the oddity of this statement struck her. Leaning down across the banister, she asked, "Wait, a professor is coming to our house? This afternoon? Aren't we going to tour the school?"

__

"It's a...very special school," her father said awkwardly before amending in a brighter tone, "For our special girl, of course!"

__

A dark cloud of foreboding overcame her. None of her teachers had visited their house. Her parents wanted her to have the best education money could buy. She had to do interviews at the other schools she'd applied to, and she hadn't even applied to this one. They must have signed her up. Horrified, Hermione asked, "It's not...it's not a school for juvenile delinquents, is it? Oh, Dad, please don't make me go! I didn't mean to help them cheat!"

__

Her mum huffed. "Don't be stupid, dear. We wouldn't dream of sending you someplace like that. Now go change into fresh clothes and wash your face!"

Hermione hesitated. Perhaps it would be too late to persuade them after the professor came. 

__

"Do as your mother says," her father told her sternly. Hermione saw no other option and dragged herself up the rest of the stairs.

__

"Be quick!" her mum called after her. "And brush your hair!"

__

Hermione obeyed her mother's directions, initially with reluctance and then with determination. Whatever the case might be, it was always wise to make a good first impression. She dutifully scrubbed her face and swapped her school uniform for a nice dress. Unfortunately, her frizzy hair refused to cooperate, and Hermione was smushing it down in vain when Baxter began to yap from the ground floor. 

__

By the time she hurried to the staircase, the professor had arrived. 

__

Hermione stayed out of view in the shadows as her parents led their guest to the living room. She was a tall, wiry woman wearing rectangular eyeglasses and an ankle-length, green tartan dress which was too warm for London weather. Everything from the professor's taut topknot to her squared shoulders down to her pointed leather boots intimidated Hermione. If this woman was a teacher, she could only imagine what the headmaster or headmistress must be like. Austere as she looked, she seemed out of place in their fashionably minimalist living room.

__

"I'll be back with Hermione," her mother half-shouted over Baxter's barking before she spotted her on the stairs. She glared and beckoned to her. "What are you doing there? Come say 'hello.'"

__

Meanwhile, Baxter was circling the woman and barking madly. He quieted for an instant as Hermione stepped into the room and started walking towards the professor. Baxter intercepted her, bowed low on his front legs, and began to growl and snarl at the stranger.

"Baxter!" her mom snapped at the poodle, then said to the professor, "This isn't like him."

__

The professor appeared unfazed. She even chuckled a little. "Some dogs react poorly to me, I'm afraid. Do you mind taking him to another room?"

__

Her mum crinkled her nose up at the suggestion. Baxter was her spoiled baby. "He'll settle down in a minute," she said. 

__

But Baxter did not relax. In fact, his frenzied aggression worsened when the professor took a seat. With an abundance of bravado for a creature who weighed ten pounds, the dog snatched the bottom hem of her dress in his teeth and violently shook his head to and fro. The professor's expression morphed from amusement to annoyance as she attempted to tug her skirt out of his mouth. 

__

"For God's sake, Helen," her father said, "grab the dog and put him in the crate!"

__

Grumbling under her breath, her mother hauled Baxter into her arms. He refused to let go until her mother smacked his snout. She carried him upstairs, and the professor frowned at the holes his teeth had torn into the fabric of her dress. 

__

The display made Hermione uneasy. Baxter could be high-strung, but he was never vicious. Her mum always said that dogs were good judges of character. Her father called that sentimental rubbish, but Hermione believed it. Wasn't this how horror films began?

__

Her mother soon returned to the living room, noticed that Hermione had not moved, and said, "Well, don't just stand there. Didn't we raise you with any manners? Go introduce yourself!"

__

Her mother's reprimand caused Hermione to blush. She went to the professor and extended her hand. "My name is Hermione Granger, ma'am. Thank you for visiting us."

__

The woman graciously accepted her handshake and replied in a rich Scottish brogue, "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall. I teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts. I've been waiting a long time to meet you, Miss Granger."

__

"You have?" Hermione asked. 

__

Professor McGonagall raised her brow and glanced at Hermione's father, who had sat down in the wingback chair next to hers. "Why, yes," she said, "didn't you receive your admittance letter?"

__

Hermione had no idea what the woman was talking about. No one sent her post except for her Granny. She felt quite foolish, wondering whether she or her parents had misplaced it. She hated to be unprepared.

__

"Um, sorry, I forgot," Hermione lied. 

__

"I see," Professor McGonagall said with yet another enigmatic glance towards her father. 

__

Hermione walked to the sofa and sat beside her mum, her mind whirring in confusion. What kind of name was 'Hogwarts' for a school? It sounded disgusting. And what in the world was 'Transfiguration'?

__

The air was tense. Nobody spoke. Hermione became acutely aware that she wasn't wearing shoes and hid her sock-clad feet beneath the coffee table as best she could. 

__

"Very well, I'll start from the beginning," the professor said stiffly. "As you know from the _letter_ , you are a witch, Miss Granger. Young people like yourself come from all over Great Britain to study magic at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a boarding school in Scotland. I visited with your parents shortly after your eleventh birthday. It was a Tuesday last year so I came over the weekend, but you were visiting your grandmother. Your parents requested that I wait until closer to the date of your matriculation to meet you. I've come to answer any questions you may have."

__

Hermione caught herself staring and consciously smoothed out her expression. This woman was obviously a lunatic and potentially a dangerous one. Yes, strange things happened to Hermione. Once in a while, she entertained the thought that it was magic before reminding herself that there must be a more rational explanation. Magic was supposed to be epic and mystical like it was in her books or like the gorgeous black mare in the loch. If magic were real, she would find her way to it, like Narnia. Science was the closest thing to magic in this world, but maybe there existed a better one. Magic was not a _boarding school_.

__

Why her parents had invited Professor McGonagall (if that was even her real name) into their home baffled Hermione, but she would buy them some time to get rid of her or call the police. She scrambled for a reasonable question to ask. 

__

"How did I get into, uh, Hogwarts? I didn't apply."

__

"A clever question," McGonagall answered approvingly. "There is no need to apply. Hogwarts has a charmed scroll and quill which records the name of every witch and wizard at birth."

__

"Oh, interesting," Hermione replied, infusing as much sincerity into the words as she could. "How many students go there?"

__

"It varies by the year. Your class is smaller than average," she said with a profound sorrow in her voice. 

__

Definitely emotionally unstable, Hermione concluded. She looked anxiously towards her parents, but neither of them was behaving as though the situation were out of the ordinary. Her mother was idly buffing her fingernails against her jeans. Her father was listening with his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair and his chin cupped in his palm. 

__

"Hmmm," Hermione stalled while she tried to dredge up another question. Then she remembered the one she had been pondering earlier and spun into nicer wording. "Could you please tell me more about Transfiguration? Is it like sciences? That's my favorite class."

__

This question must have put the woman at ease for some reason. Though she maintained her straight-backed pose, she settled more comfortably into the plush armchair, saying, "Simply put, Transfiguration is the branch of magic concerning the transformation of one object into another, although there are more applications at advanced levels. It is...Well, there is really no equivalent to it in the Muggle world, but magic functions according to a standard set of laws like your sciences do. You might liken Potions to chemistry, and some of our classes explore magi-biology. Transfiguration is one of the required courses for First Year students. Your other courses will be Charms, Potions, Herbology, Defense Against The Dark Arts, and lastly—"

__

"The 'Dark Arts?'" her father interrupted. "Like black magic? You didn't tell us anything about that the last time you were here!"

__

The woman, who already had impeccable posture, somehow drew herself up taller and stared over her spectacles at Hermione's father. "I most certainly did, Mr. Granger. Had you reviewed the materials list enclosed with Miss Granger's acceptance letter, you would have noted a textbook on the subject. I believe that a Mr Ewan McLaggen from the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures spoke to you following the kelpie incident as well. There are many hazardous creatures and spells in the wizarding world, some of which, as you've witnessed, crop up in the Muggle world from time to time. At Hogwarts, we do not teach 'black magic,' to use your phrasing. We merely teach our students how to defend themselves from it."

__

Hermione waited for her father to throw this madwoman out of their house or at least to do _something_ , but he glared and remained silent. 

__

"As I was saying," McGonagall continued to Hermione, "the last required subject for First Year students is Flying. In later years, you may take elective courses such as Arithmancy, Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures. According to Mr McLaggen's account, you may be particularly interested in the latter subject."

__

"Oh, yes, kelpies in particular," Hermione agreed, repeating a detail that she'd plucked from context. "But flying? Like...airplanes?"

__

McGonagall chuckled. "No, Miss Granger, on broomsticks; however, First Years are not permitted to bring brooms with them to Hogwarts."

__

Hermione stifled a laugh, too. Flying on broomsticks was the most preposterous thing she had heard in her life. "But that's only on television programmes," she said. 

__

McGonagall smiled faintly and shook her head. "The Ministry instituted the Statute of Secrecy in 1689. Prior to the Statute, Muggles lived alongside wizarding-kind. Some of what you know as 'fairy tales' contain a kernel of truth. In our modern times, it is vital to keep your identity as a witch and the existence of the magical world a secret."

__

This conversation got more and more absurd by the minute. Hermione switched to a new hypothesis. Despite the crazy things she was saying, this ‘Professor McGonagall’ now appeared lucid and calm. Was it an elaborate prank? Well, two could play at the game.

__

"So you're a witch, right?" she asked. 

__

"That is correct."

Hermione leaned back against the sofa and adopted a falsely casual pose. With the sly, teasing pretense of credulity, she countered, "You don't have green skin and a wart on your nose, and neither do I. Isn't that what witches look like?"

__

"No, the Muggle myth is primarily based on hags. Humanoid magical Beings," McGonagall informed her. "I advise you to read the book I left with your parents last September, Miss Granger. Many of your questions are answered therein."

__

"Sorry, ma'am, I will. I've been busy with my schoolwork," Hermione lied. "You keep saying 'Muggle.' What is that?" Realizing how brash she sounded, she tacked on, "If you don't mind, ma'am. I love to learn new words!"

__

McGonagall nodded. Based on the sparkle of her eyes, Hermione again felt that the professor approved of her. She preened under the positive attention before remembering that this woman was no real professor at all. 

__

"A Muggle is a person who does not possess magical ability. You are what is known as a 'Muggle-born' witch."

__

"So I am a 'witch' and my mum and dad are 'Muggles?’"

__

"Indeed," said McGonagall.

__

"Which means it's genetic. A recessive gene?" she deduced. "Is anyone else in my family a witch?"

__

"That is the prevailing theory, yes, but no one knows definitively where Muggle-born witches and wizards come from. It is likely that you have a Squib somewhere in your family tree — that is, a person born to magical parents who has little to no magical ability themself."

__

"Oh," Hermione replied. Her father had briefly taken up genealogy as a hobby, and Hermione had helped him to research. She was already mentally cataloguing her ancestors, hunting for one who seemed special and unique. Her great-uncle, Ernest Granger, was reputed to have an unusual knack for card tricks. Or her ancestress, Rose, had been a prominent abolitionist in the eighteenth century. Perhaps she cast a magic spell to ensorcel the Parliament…

__

"What are the other sort of witches and wizards called, the ones from magical families?"

__

Hermione had committed a faux pas to judge by how McGonagall's professional composure fluttered into apprehension. Her voice was stilted as she said, "A person of mixed Muggle and magical heritage is called a 'half-blood.' Someone whose family has been magical for at least three generations including themself, by the most common standard, is called a 'pure-blood.'"

__

Hermione cringed in distaste. The term 'pure-blood' was reminiscent of purebred dogs like Baxter. What a crass and ludicrous way to categorize human beings.

__

This line of questioning was utter nonsense, Hermione reminded herself firmly. Yes, bizarre events happened to her which she couldn't explain, but that didn't prove it was magic. She'd gotten caught up in the ruse all over again simply because she wanted so badly for it to be true.

__

Hermione felt drained from the dissolution of her impossible hopes. She didn't care to invent any more questions to keep the farce rolling, not when she could be reading instead. A strained hush descended as ‘Professor McGonagall’ waited expectantly. 

__

"Mum, Dad, do you have any questions?" she suggested. As the sentence crossed her lips, it occurred to Hermione that something was wrong. Her father had a quirky sense of humor beneath his strict attitude yet he'd hardly said a word. Her mother had an awful poker face. She should have been laughing long before now. 

__

Her father still looked sullen and didn't acknowledge the question. Hermione turned to her mother, who shrugged. "Professor McGonagall told us most of this last autumn." Puzzled, she cocked her head sideways like a parrot and added, "You're taking this well, dear. I thought you'd throw a tantrum."

__

Hermione's mouth fell open. Why would her mother say something so embarrassing in front of a stranger? 

__

Her old suspicions reemerged: this had to be a prank. A nasty one indeed. Hermione did not ’throw tantrums.’ She wasn't the baby her parents treated her as. Try as she might to be good, she constantly messed up anyways. She got in trouble for being inattentive in class, even when she had already read the chapter three times. When the kids from more influential families called her mean names and took her belongings, she got punished for hitting back. 

__

Her parents hadn't believed her about Mrs Winslow, just like they hadn't believed her when her classmate's missing bracelet turned up inside her desk. Hermione hadn't stolen it; she had not so much as touched it. She was jealous and wished for one like it, and the bracelet must have come to her of its own accord. Her parents bought her a similar bracelet and told her to be smarter. They alluded to their disappointment and frustration so often that Hermione would never have worn the thing if she didn't feel dreadfully guilty about the waste of money.

__

They had repeatedly warned her. Hermione was keenly conscious that she made their lives difficult no matter how she strived to be the type of daughter they could take pride in. Her mum and dad had finally grown tired of her. They were going to send her away. 

__

"What if I don't want to attend Hogwarts?" she demanded mulishly. 

__

McGonagall blinked several times as though no one had rejected the offer before. Her mother heaved a sigh and complained, "You see how ornery she is, Professor."

__

The ‘professor’ ignored that remark. Clasping her knobby hands in her lap, McGonagall tilted forward in a parody of sympathy. "I gather that it must be hard to leave your friends and family. I grew up in the Muggle world, too. But I believe that you will do very well at Hogwarts, Miss Granger. I should hope that you come to consider it a second home."

__

Hermione did not need this stranger's fake pity. A second home? More like a prison. She crossed her arms and jutted out her chin. "I doubt it."

__

McGonagall recoiled as though Hermione had slapped her. Unseen behind a decorative pillow between them, Hermione's mother pinched her ribs hard and hissed, "Behave yourself!" in her ear. 

__

"What has gotten into you?! Apologize to the professor immediately!" her father ordered. He started to rise from the chair, but McGonagall held out her hand in the 'stop' gesture and he slumped down again. Hermione watched him flex his jaw; as a retired dentist, it's what he did instead of grinding his teeth.

__

This was all too much. Her parents had gone too far. Disbelieving her and taking away her books, these injustices she could choke down, but a cruel game to mock her? No, that was her limit. 

__

She shoved her mother away and jumped up from the sofa. "I won't!" Hermione sobbed angrily. "And I won't go to reform school! I'll...I'll run away to Granny Jean's! She won't make me go!"

__

The three adults gaped at her. Baxter's yapping drifted down through the ceiling.

__

"Reform school? What in Merlin's—"

__

Comprehension dawned on McGonagall's face. Her voice trembled with cold fury. "I had my doubts but laid them aside. It has been many years since a girl your age has fooled me. I see where you learned that trait. Your parents haven't shown you the letter, have they, Miss Granger?"

__

"You don't have to pretend anymore. I'm not an idiot!" Hermione sniffed. For lack of a better plan, she marched to the foyer to grab her trainers. When no one stopped her, she stomped back into the living room and sat on the floor to put them on. She would not ’throw a tantrum,’ but neither was she above leaving dirty footprints on her mother's precious white carpet before departing. 

__

"Hermione, enough. You're acting like a toddler. Go sit by your mum and we'll deal with you later," her father said.

__

She continued tying up the laces as tears trickled down her cheeks.

__

"Miss Granger, I implore you," McGonagall said. "Everything I have told you is true."

__

"No, it's not," she muttered under her breath. 

__

"Get up!" 

Before she knew it, her father was gripping her by the bicep and hauling her to her feet. Hermione staggered off balance with one shoe tied and the other half on. He attempted to steer her towards the sofa, but she locked her knees and dug in her heels.

__

"Remove your hands from that child, Mr Granger," she heard McGonagall command. Preoccupied with not losing her right shoe, Hermione only vaguely registered that the woman had stood.

__

Her mother rushed forward and clamped onto Hermione's wrist. Rather than pull her to the sofa, she seethed at McGonagall. "'That child' is _our_ daughter. You'd do well to remember that!"

__

"To her infinite misfortune," McGonagall retorted in a tone acidic enough to corrode steel. She drew a tapered, wooden rod from her sleeve, and both of Hermione's parents flinched. 

__

Hermione seized the opportunity to wrench her arms free. She wasn't sure what to do next, though, feeling more upset and confused than she already had been. 

__

"Despite my better judgment and the _poor_ judgment which you have displayed in the past, I honored your request to reveal your daughter's capacity for magic to her at a time of your own choosing," McGonagall said to her parents, her distinctive Scottish brogue becoming more pronounced with the heightened emotion in her voice. Her whole demeanor was tightly controlled yet simmering with scorn, like a bomb on the verge of detonation. "Not only have you failed to do so, but you have misled her to believe that Hogwarts is a reform school? You have abused your daughter's trust, as well as the leniency we granted you."

__

Hermione shrank back behind her mother and father. She knew that she should speak in her parents' defence, but if McGonagall had been formidable before, the woman was now a towering beacon of sanctimonious anger. 

__

She could sense that her dad was afraid. There was a blend of pleading and resentment in his voice when he replied, "You don't understand what a fractious child she is, Professor. My wife and I were about to tell her when she confessed to cheating on her exam this same afternoon! We never told her it was a reform school. Hermione is an imaginative girl. I have no clue why she assumed we'd ship her to a reform school. We'd do anything for our daughter! She's playing on your heartstrings!"

__

Rather than be assuaged, McGonagall's bristling disdain intensified the longer he rambled. "We've given you the better part of a year to speak with her, and you tell me that you waited until moments before I was due to arrive?"

__

"We were going to wait until the school year ended," her mother whined. "Today is not the first time Hermione has gotten into trouble at school. It's a pattern with her. You'll see. She's your problem then. How were we supposed to make her behave for a whole year if she knew she'd be starting at Hogwarts? We can barely keep her in line as it is!" 

__

Hermione gnawed her bottom lip raw to prevent herself from saying something that would make matters worse. It was beginning to sink in that this was not a joke nor a trick but instead something deadly serious, as insane as it was. She glanced towards the front door and determined that it was too far away for her to run for it. So she resolved to stay perfectly still and small and quiet, like a rabbit surrounded by foxes. 

__

"I do not tolerate excuses from my students, much less from their parents!" said McGonagall. "Where is her letter? Did you destroy it?"

__

Her father crossed his arms and puffed out his chest. Although he was a tad paunchy about the middle, he was a well-built man for his age. "Hermione is not your student yet. I think it's best that she stay at her old school. She said herself she doesn't want to go to Hogwarts. The letter can go straight into the rubbish bin so far as I'm concerned. We're done here."

__

"David, we talked about this..." her mother said.

__

"No, it's decided. I won't be lectured and blackmailed over how I raise my own daughter."

__

_Blackmailed?_ Hermione thought in alarm. An entirely new fear crawled to the forefront of her mind: since their family got rich, her parents had cautioned her that there were bad people in the world who might wish to take advantage of her or do her harm. Maybe McGonagall was one of them, but why, then, had her parents invited her into their home? She finished doing up her shoe just in case she had to make a break for it after all.

__

For McGonagall's part, she stood unshaken by her father's bluster. She looked at Hermione's parents as one might regard a pair of stray dogs squabbling over a scrap of garbage, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. She sharply replied, "The letter is addressed to your daughter. It is not yours to do away with."

__

"No, we're finished," he said. "Get out of my house or I'll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing!"

__

"Your empty threats do not frighten me.” Her eyes skimmed past him dismissively and rested on Hermione. "Miss Granger, you _are_ a witch, and Hogwarts is where you belong. Without guidance on how to use your magic, you will become a danger to yourself and to others. You cannot otherwise attain your full potential as you deserve to."

__

Hermione did not want to commit to anything, but she nodded. She'd say or do whatever it took to make McGonagall leave. 

__

McGonagall angled her head towards Hermione's mother, saying in a tone which brooked no argument, "Mrs Granger, please fetch her letter and book. It's time we discussed this properly, as I ought to have done last September."

Chastised into submission, her mother turned towards the hallway behind them and took a few tentative steps. Her father whipped out his arm to block her path. 

__

"No, Hel, didn't I tell you this would be more trouble than it's worth?" he proclaimed.

__

"'More trouble than it's worth'?" McGonagall echoed, her blue eyes ablaze. "Your daughter's education is not a cost-benefits analysis for your own convenience! If you refuse to give her the letter, then I must do it myself."

__

The woman straightened out her skirts, pushed up her sleeves, and lifted her wooden rod into the air like a conductor's baton. Hermione did not understand why, but she held her breath as though anticipating an orchestra's first resounding note. 

__

" _Accio_ Hogwarts letter!" she said, and waved the rod — which Hermione abruptly recognized as a _magic wand_.

__

Nothing happened, or at least nothing that Hermione could discern. She felt silly for expecting anything at all. Yet undeterred, McGonagall repeated more forcefully, " _Accio_ Hogwarts letter!"

__

A dull _Thump! Thump! Thump!_ emanated from the wall to her left on the far side of the hallway, gradually increasing in volume. Torn between dread and exhilaration, Hermione clutched at her chest. Her heart pounded a million beats per second under her palm, though the rest of her body felt rooted in place.

__

The noise changed into a hollow _Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!_ The thing moving in her father's home office was now striking the wall. 

__

"Stop this instant!" her father yelled. When McGonagall didn't react, he yelled again, "I said stop, damn you!"

__

"David, do something!" her mother shrilled. 

__

He bent forward, ready to charge at McGonagall. Seeing the threat, she brought her other hand up to the wand alongside the one already gripping it and heaved like a fisherman reeling in a big catch. 

__

The wall exploded in a shower of plaster, insulation, and wood splinters. The large safe from her father's office soared out of the hole and smashed through the corner between the living room and hallway. Hermione screamed, half-choking on plaster dust, as the heavy safe hurtled towards her. She instinctively ducked, but the safe swerved around her and her parents. 

__

Hermione spun around in time to watch it collide with the floor. It was a full-sized safe, the top edge of which reached Hermione's waist. She could hear the gold bars clanking around inside. Though the safe weighed more than Hermione herself did, it _bounced_ across the carpet like a rubber ball until it tumbled to a halt at McGonagall's feet.

__

" _Alohomora!_ " the woman said with another wave of her wand. The numbered dial rotated clockwise, then anticlockwise, and back. The lock's pins clicked audibly and the door popped open while the Grangers observed in mute amazement.

__

Her mother regained her wits first. "David! You're going to stand there like a coward while she _robs_ us? Some man you are!"

__

But McGonagall tossed the gold bars and other valuables aside like worthless junk as she rummaged through the vault's contents. She emerged holding a thick, leather-bound book — the cover a bit scratched and dented after its tumultuous journey. A fancy envelope with a broken wax seal poked up between the pages. 

__

McGonagall carried the book towards Hermione and her parents who, to Hermione's dismay, both wordlessly retreated. They were abandoning her to face a bonafide _witch_ all alone. Hermione could no longer deny the evidence. The professor was a witch...and so was she. 

__

Hermione stood steadfast as McGonagall presented the book to her. "I give this to all of my new students."

__

She accepted the book reluctantly as though it might singe her fingers, but the mahogany leather was pleasant to the touch and the tome's hefty weight intrigued her in spite of her wariness. The pages must hold so much to learn, every iota of it brand new to her.

__

The cover did not list a title. It was blank but for an ornate gilt border and a shield-shaped crest divided into quadrants. In the upper left was a lion rampart, in the upper right a coiled serpent, in the lower left a snarling badger, and lastly in the lower right a bird of prey, perhaps an eagle. The center of the crest was marked with the outline of an ‘H’ within a golden square. Fascinated, Hermione traced her fingernail across the glittering design, wondering what each symbol represented. She flipped the book open to the frontispiece and read: _Hogwarts: A History_ by Bathilda Bagshot.

__

"Read the letter," McGonagall prompted. 

__

Hermione pulled out the envelope and tucked the book into the crook of her elbow. She gingerly unfolded the fine sheet of parchment. After noting the headmaster's name, she skipped past his lengthy string of accolades and landed on the opening lines:

__

_**Dear Miss Granger,** _

__

_**We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.**_

__

Hermione read it over and over and over until the words imprinted themselves in her brain like a mantra. 

__

It was real.

__

It was _real._

__

No, the revelation of magic's existence was not so grandiose as she had envisioned, but as Hermione absorbed in the rest of the letter, a warm glow of optimism blossomed within her. There were others like her, people who would understand and welcome her. She could begin her life anew with a fresh, clean slate. 

__

"Does it look familiar?" McGonagall asked. "What I cannot fathom is that the letters are charmed to indicate whether the recipient has read it; yours is marked as read."

__

The inquiry startled Hermione out of her musings. She immediately berated herself for the recklessness of dropping her guard. Professor or not, this woman was a stranger and a witch who could probably transform her into a toad on a whim if she were so inclined. 

__

"No," said Hermione. She glanced at her parents; they were whispering between themselves.

__

"Think back to your eleventh birthday. Did you see an owl with the letter attached to its leg?" 

__

A messenger owl sounded like something that ought to stick out in her memory, but she'd been distracted by the dismal attendance for her birthday party. She'd spent the evening mashing her cake around on the plate, penning thank you notes to her relatives, and telling herself that so few of her classmates had come because it was a weeknight. 

__

But suddenly she did recall a barn owl perched in the willow tree. Her mum was terrified it would eat Baxter, so her dad had chased it off with a croquet mallet. Though she hadn't seen a letter, her dad had leaned down with his hands on his knees afterwards like he was tired or had pulled a muscle. Hermione had been worried about him. Perhaps the owl had dropped the letter in the grass...

__

"There was an owl, but it flew away," she said. 

__

"It didn't deliver the letter into your hands? That is the task they are trained to perform," McGonagall replied. 

__

Hermione shook her head. McGonagall pressed her fingers to her temples in exasperation. 

__

"Rubeus must be going soft on them again. I'll have a word with him," the woman said half to herself, grimacing. "I doubt yours is the only meddlesome family we'll deal with this summer."

__

This little quip raised Hermione's hackles. Her parents' duplicity left her feeling...conflicted, but it wasn't McGonagall's place to criticize her parents after she'd _blown up_ their living room. 

__

"When did you read the letter?"

__

"I already told you I didn't read it," Hermione answered peevishly. 

__

"May I take it for a moment, please?"

__

Hermione became contrite in an instant. She might not trust the professor, but she still wanted to keep her letter and go to Hogwarts. McGonagall held out her hand; it was not, in fact, a request. Hermione passed the parchment to her, poised to snatch it back at a moment's notice. 

__

_"Revelio,"_ the witch said while she spiralled her wand across the letter. A blue ripple of magic washed over the surface and quickly dimmed. She tried a couple of other spells but apparently to no effect. 

__

"It hasn't been tampered with magically," McGonagall said as she lifted the parchment up to the ceiling light and peered at it closely.

__

Hermione recognized it then.

__

"I read it through the back. I hadn't figured out most of the words before my mum put it away and told me to quit snooping through her mail. It didn't seem important," Hermione said softly, gazing at the slip of parchment which was now the most important thing in the world to her. 

__

She turned back to her parents. "Mum, why did you lie to me?"

__

"I didn't lie to you, sweetheart." Her mother's dark eyes, so similar to Hermione's own, were wide and wounded. "Classes had just started a fortnight before your birthday. That Natalie P. and her nasty, little friends were already hassling you. Your father and I decided it'd be less complicated for you to finish out the school year at Clifton first. The news was too stressful for you on top of everything else."

__

"Yeah, I guess so," Hermione mumbled. Though she wasn't happy with her mum's explanation, she could somewhat see the logic to it.

__

Her mum smiled and clapped her hands. "Good! Looks like everything is taken care of then. I'll walk you out, Professor."

__

"Actually, if I may have a private word with you and your husband?" McGonagall said, arching an iron-grey brow.

__

Her parents and the professor stood there staring at each other — one of those obnoxious things adults did where they carried out a silent conversation over her head. Hermione huffed and piped up with, "So I'm allowed to go to Hogwarts? Please, Mum? Please, Dad?"

__

"I don't know about this Hogwarts place, kiddo," her father said as he nudged a chunk of broken plaster with the toe of his shoe. "I'm not sure I'd like what they'd teach you. Black magic and such. How about we hire you a tutor like you've been asking for? No need to go haring off to Scotland when you can study at home."

__

"But you heard the professor! I have to learn magic!"

__

"And what about what your dear, old dad says, huh? We'll track down a _magic_ tutor," he suggested. "What do you think of that?"

__

Hermione was busy contemplating where he could locate a magic tutor when McGonagall cleared her throat and, surprisingly, knelt next to her so that their eyes were level. The old woman placed the letter in her hand, and Hermione knew that no tutor could compare to Hogwarts. A school special enough to write a book about. A chance to make true friends for the first time in her life. She'd go to Hogwarts if she had to hitchhike to Scotland by herself. It's where she was destined to be.

__

As though she had read Hermione's mind, McGonagall said, "I will see you on the first of September, Miss Granger. Now go along while I organize the details with your parents."

__

Hermione automatically obeyed and traipsed towards the staircase to her bedroom but — as she navigated past the destruction in their living room, stepping around the busted safe and fragments of the ruined walls — her anxiety reignited and she paused. Her dad didn't want her to attend Hogwarts. McGonagall had wreaked all this damage in under thirty seconds. What if McGonagall attacked her parents? She didn't know any official spells, but shouldn't she try to protect them?

__

"Quit dawdling, girl!" her father barked out behind her.

__

Hermione checked on her mother. She was scowling so ferociously at the professor that it scared her. Like witnessing a completely different side of her mum from the one she'd always known.

__

Hermione ran up the stairs and hid in her room. Just to make herself feel better, she locked the door, even though McGonagall's spell could pry open a literal vault. 

__

**~ ~ ~**

It took fifteen minutes for her to work up enough nerve to sneak to the stairwell. All she could hear from her spot on the landing was a monotonous buzzing noise. No sign of her parents nor of McGonagall. For all she knew, the house was empty apart from herself and Baxter, whom she had retrieved from his crate. She didn't venture back into the living room. Instead, petrified with notions of what scene she might find below, she returned to her room.

__

Then nearly an hour more elapsed during which time Hermione sat listlessly by her bedroom window. She had concocted a vague plan of escaping along the rooftop if necessary. Baxter dozed on her lap; he'd worn himself out earlier, or else he couldn't hear through the weird buzzing noise, either. Hopefully, she could save him, too.

__

The 'gifts' in which she had been so confident mere hours ago paled beside what McGonagall had done effortlessly. Her own magic had never produced such reliable results.

__

But it _was_ magic. She could do so much as a witch once she learned how. Nobody would bully her or boss her around anymore...

__

Baxter scrambled up from her lap and growled at the window. Hermione edged back from the pane, peeking through the weave of her eyelet-lace curtains to see McGonagall in the rear garden. Her position was out of view from most of the house in the sheltered nook between the weeping willow's broad canopy and the corner of the garden walls. Her parents were nowhere in sight. She wanted to find out whether they were okay, but McGonagall's head swivelled towards the window and Hermione froze. 

__

She watched the professor look around the garden, searching for something. There wasn't much to see: a patio table and benches, her swing set, a few trees, the tall limestone walls and the taller yew hedges which fully enclosed the property. Hermione came to the jarring realization that none of her neighbors could see into the yard. Who knew what McGonagall might do with none the wiser until it was too late?

__

Then something shockingly horrible occurred: McGonagall hunched over and began to shrink. 

__

Her topknot melted into her scalp and her skin bleached to whitish-grey. The tartan dress somehow phased out of existence as fur sprouted across her body. Her spine lengthened while her shoulders and hips buckled inwards. Low, triangular ears grew from her skull, her nose and jaw warped into a muzzle, and a tail sprang up behind her. 

__

Where once was a woman now sat a silver tabby cat — the very same cat from before!

__

It... _She _languidly arched her back in the afternoon sunlight, leapt on top of the wall, and bounded away through the hedges.__

__

Astounded and disturbed in equal measure, Hermione's first thought was to be glad that she hadn't been brave after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews & criticism appreciated!


End file.
